


I’ll stop the world and melt with you

by imnotinclinedtomaturity



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 69, Explicit Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Public Sex, amsterphan, high!phan, ii tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotinclinedtomaturity/pseuds/imnotinclinedtomaturity
Summary: Dan and Phil have been on their second world tour for just over a month and it’s been wonderful so far. They finally have a free day, and Dan only wants to spend time in their hotel room with Phil. Phil, on the other hand, is determined to help Dan experience Amsterdamright.





	I’ll stop the world and melt with you

**Author's Note:**

> endless thanks to @auroraphileas for spontaneous reblogging my post about high!phan and encouraging me to write this and editing on pretty short notice so that i could post this for the @phandomficfests tour thing. you’re the best boo <3

The early morning light streams in through the opened hotel curtains, pulling Dan out of his slumber more than he would like. They’d gotten in late last night, and they must not have bothered to draw the curtains closed. As the light shines in Dan eyes, he regrets that. More than anything, he just wants to roll over and go back to sleep.

Which is ridiculous. They are in a new city together and Dan knows that he should be excited to have a completely free day in a new city, especially so close to the beginning of the tour when they both still have so much energy. And they are in _Amsterdam_ of all places — a city that he, in particular, would have _died_ to be able to come to ten years ago. 

But this isn’t ten years ago. Dan isn’t seventeen anymore. He isn’t a carefree, reckless young teenager who spends most of his weekends (and weekdays, in all honesty) getting high. Now, Dan is a nearly twenty-seven year old man in a _very_ committed relationship with the most perfect man in the world. His wants, his needs, his goals have all changed over the years.

Twenty-Seven Year Old Dan isn’t desperate to spend his free day in Amsterdam wandering from various _coffee shop_ to _coffee shop_ , indulging in the liberal attitude towards marijuana. Twenty-Seven Year Old Dan isn’t even desperate to _soberly_ see the city today. The city may be beautiful, but it will still be here this evening, and tomorrow, and the rest of their lives for that matter.

Today, Twenty-Seven Year Old Dan hopes to spend the entire day locked in a hotel room with Thirty-One Year Old Phil Lester. Dan doesn’t even have anything specific in mind for today, other than the fact that he misses spending time with his boyfriend, and wants to indulge in quality time with him. Which might be ridiculous, considering that they’ve been together nonstop for the full month of touring thus far.

It’s not the same, when other people are around. 

Dan has no requirements for today other than he wants to see Phil and _only_ Phil.

The small cobblestone alley that Dan can see from the window is quaint and beautiful, but right now, there is a sight Dan would much rather be taking in. Dan tears his eyes away from the view and rolls over, wanting to rouse Phil from his sleep with a good morning kiss.

Except, Phil’s not there.

The other half of the bed, the place where Phil is _supposed_ to be, is empty. The covers are rucked back, the pillow dented from his head, but no Phil.

For a moment, Dan tries to focus his ears, listening for the pitter-patter of the shower, or maybe even the soft humming of Phil singing in the bath, but all he can hear is the sounds of city life echoing up the narrow walls of the alley that their hotel room faces.

Dan forces himself to get up a little, balancing himself on his elbows so that can grab his phone and text Phil. It’s where he left it last night, plugged in on the bedside table, but it’s wrapped in a crinkled piece of hotel stationary. Dan smiles; it’s a classic Phil move. 

Without any real care for his phone, Dan tugs the paper free. The iphone tumbles to the ground, but Dan can’t be arsed to care about that right now. 

_amsterDAMN our coffee machine doesn’t work! I ran out to buy some, I’ll be back within the hour xx_

There’s no way of knowing _when_ Phil left the note, but according to the alarm clock, it’s only seven in the morning, so Dan feels justified in letting himself dive back into the blankets and ignore the world. 

He must have fallen back asleep, because when Dan wakes up next, it is to slightly brighter sunlight and a warm weight on his upper body.

Dan cracks his eyes open to find Phil straddling his waist, a cup of coffee clenched in his hands. Out of habit, Dan pulls his arms from under the duvet and runs his hands up Phil’s bare legs — he must have already shed his jeans.

“Morning,” Dan drawls out, trailing his eyes down from Phil’s face, and taking in his long form. “You’re up early,” Dan mumbles.

“Jetlag,” Phil answers simply.

Dan screws up his face, trying to remember where they were yesterday. He can’t quite remember right now, but he _knows_ that it’s even earlier there than it is here. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how jetlag works, babe.”

“Hmm,” Phil murmurs. He sets his coffee down on the table, and leans forward to capture Dan’s lips with his. “It must be just adrenaline, then,” he whispers when he pulls back a fraction of a centimeter.

Dan lets his fingers wander higher up Phil’s legs, dipping them beneath the hem of his pants. “Maybe you can find a different use for that adrenaline, hmm?”

“I like the sound of that,” Phil murmured, kissing Dan’s lips again. Dan’s eyes drift close, still heavy with sleep. Laying in bed, slowly making out with his boyfriend, and listening to the early morning sounds of a foreign city feels heavenly. Dan has no idea how he got this lucky. He had worried that constantly traveling to new places with Phil would grown mundane somewhere around Kansas City during their first worldwide tour, but it hasn’t. Each city, each adventure brings him closer to Phil.

Dan slips one of his hands from Phil’s pants and wraps it around the back of Phil’s neck, pulling him down more firmly. Phil kisses back hungrily, his hips rocking gently against Dan’s — Phil must have a similar idea for how they could spend their morning.

Without breaking their kiss, Dan slides his hand further up Phil’s pants, coming to rest on his arse. Phil sighs, blindly setting his coffee down on the table. Dan pulls back from their kiss, just a hair. “I was annoyed when I woke up and you were gone this morning, but this has turned into a wonderful wake up call.”

Phil laughs against Dan’s lips, a deep giggle that reverberates through Dan’s body. “I brought you a present, Danny.”

“What’s that?” Dan asks, his fingers drifting around Phil’s hip, inching towards his cock. 

Against Dan’s wishes, Phil raises up his knees a bit, his weight lifting off of Dan. Dan is too focused on the way the hem of Phil’s shirt is falling away from his stomach to be concerned about what Phil is doing. It isn’t until a green paper bag is dropped on Dan’s chest that he realizes that Phil was probably getting something off the nightstand.

Dan pushes himself up, just a little bit, resting his shoulders against the headboard. He picks the bag up off his chest, inspecting it. There’s no shop logo, and it’s made out of smooth, wax-coated paper.

“What’s this?” Dan asks warily — and rightfully so. 

Over the years, Phil has made numerous sketchy purchasing choices, especially under the guise of _souvenir shopping_. So when Phil merely shrugs, silently urging Dan to see for himself, Dan hesitantly opens the bag, not sure what he should be prepared for.

The first thing he notices is that it smells _amazing_ — it’s a smell he knows well, too, but it’s also better than any version he’s ever smelt before.

“Philip Michael Lester!” Dan chides playfully, a wide, gleeful smile on his face. “What would Kath say?”

“Nothing,” Phil answers simply. “Because if you ever tell her, I’m divorcing you.”

Dan laughs loudly, freely. “You have to marry me first, you buffoon.”

“Fine. I’ll marry you,” Phil shrugs. “And then I’ll divorce you.”

“I love you, you idiot.” Dan drags Phil down, pushing himself up some, meeting him halfway for another chaste kiss. “Where the hell did you get weed at—” he glances at the clock “—eight in the morning?” 

“They sell it in the coffee shops here!” Phil squeals, boyish giddiness in his voice.

“We’re in Amsterdam, Phil,” Dan laughs back, honestly amazed at how surprised Phil seemed to be.

“Exactly.” Phil smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I thought you might want to do Amsterdam _right_.”

Dan sits up properly, kissing Phil firmly. “God, Philip Lester, have I ever told you how _much_ I love you?” Dan murmurs against Phil’s lips.

Marijuana has never been Phil’s thing — he’d done it a few times back in uni, never disliking it, but never liking it enough to seek it out on his own. But Dan. _Dan_. 

Dan had _grown up_ smoking. It was a vice he’d mostly given up by the time he’d moved to Manchester — he didn’t find himself needing its relaxing effects nearly as often once he had Phil around full time. But it’s an old friend that he returned to every now and again, sometimes with Phil, sometimes without.

And now that it’s in front of him again, especially since it smells like _such good quality_ , Dan is eager to indulge, to indulge _right now_ — and today, he very much wants Phil to indulge with him. 

Dan gently pushes Phil off his waist, who goes willingly, and grabs his own laptop from the nightstand so that he has a solid, flat work surface. The laptop is a bit small to be doing this on, but Dan’s made do with smaller and less stable before, and he’s not keen on forcing himself out of bed if he doesn’t have to.

Practiced fingers pluck out a paper, fold a crutch, pack the joint, roll it up…

Dan can feel Phil’s eyes following his movements. Over the years, Phil must have seen him do this a few dozen times, but Phil is still convinced that it’s somehow difficult, that it’s an art form.

Which, well, maybe it is. Dan’s smoked enough bad joints in his life to know that it’s _definitely_ possible to fuck up even good quality weed.

Warm lips tickle the side of Dan’s neck, distracting him slightly from his work. “I don’t know what your plans for that are, Bear,” Phil whispers in his ear, “But we can’t smoke it in here.”

“What do you mean?” Dan whips his head to the side to look at Phil, speaking at full volume for the first time all morning.

“The hotel has a strict no smoking indoors policy, remember?” 

_Fuck_. The last thing Dan wanted to do was put on enough clothing to go down into the alley to smoke, and he’d rather not get into trouble with management — neither the hotel’s or theirs.

Dan’s eyes flit over to window, eyeing the balcony where they’d lingered briefly the night before, shyly kissing under the dark cover of night as they took in the foreign lights of the city. The balcony is technically not indoors, and if they close they close the door, surely no smoke would get inside. And it was early enough, and the alleyway was deserted enough, that they would probably be fine wearing only their pants out there.

Dan carefully seals the joint before pushing himself out of bed, offering his hand to Phil. “Come on, we can smoke on the balcony.”

“Now?” Phil asks, humor evident in his voice.

“Yes, _now_.” Dan chuckles back, pulling on Phil’s hand forcefully enough that their torsos collide softly. Dan leaned forward, ghosting his lips across Phil’s, not quite kissing. “You bought it so I could do Amsterdam right, and now we are going to _do Amsterdam right_.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Phil mutters against Dan’s before pressing more firmly, properly _kissing_ him.

Dan lets himself get lost in the kiss for moment, parting Phil’s lips with his tongue, slipping inside and tickling the roof of his mouth, just like he knows Phil loves. Dan kisses until a small moan from Phil pulls Dan back to reality. He’s on a mission — kissing Phil can wait just a _few_ minutes. Leaning back, Dan tugs on Phil’s hand lightly, leading him to the balcony, swiping the box of hotel matches off the desk on the way. They aren’t ideal, but they’ll do. Dan isn’t willing to give up his relaxed morning with Phil so that he can find a more controlled, stable flame source. Matches will have to suffice.

Dan settles against the balcony railing, resting his back against the high stone barrier. He lets go of Phil’s hand and steadies the joint in his lips, allowing him the freedom to use both of his hands. He strikes a match, holding it to the end of joint. It takes a few matches, but he manages to light the joint nice and evenly. Dan turns around, peering down the end of the alley to appreciate the view of the city. With a deep breath, Dan takes the first hit and — 

_Fuck_.

It’s _glorious_. It’s easily the best weed Dan’s ever had, and he’s shelled out for some really high quality stuff over the years. From behind, Phil wraps his arms around Dan.

“Good?” Phil hums in his ear, lightly nipping at his lobe.

In lieu of an answer, Dan takes another hit. “You never cease to amaze me, Phil Lester,” he says on his exhale. He offers the joint to Phil. “You’re turn.”

“Can you help me?” Phil asks coyly, a contrived innocence in his voice. “I’m not very good at this.”

It’s bullshit and Dan sees right through it. Sure, Phil is nowhere _near_ as experienced with weed as Dan is, but the man isn’t a _stranger_ to smoking a joint, either. But Dan knows what Phil wants, and it isn’t a lesson on how to smoke.

“Switch me,” Dan murmurs. Phil is releasing Dan and stepping to the side before the words are all the way out of Dan’s mouth. Dan moves backwards, making room for Phil in front of him. When Phil is positioned in front of him, Dan crowds in closer, pinning Phil tightly between his chest and the railing. Dan rests his right hand in front of Phil, pressing his hips lightly against Phil’s arse. “Ready, babe?”

Phil hums, sounding satisfied with the new position. “I am now. Gimme.” Dan brings the joint up to Phil’s mouth for him. Phil leans forward, taking a long drag off the joint, leaning his head back onto Dan’s shoulder when he’s done. The smoke tickles Dan’s ear as Phil breathes it out, but Dan doesn’t mind. “Damn, even I’ll admit that that’s good stuff,” Phil murmurs softly.

The marijuana chews at Dan’s sleepy brain, breaking down every brick of tension. They are on a worldwide tour, Dan _knew_ he was stressed, but until this moment, he didn’t realized _how_ stressed.

Dan brings the joint back to his lips, taking a big hit. Everything about it is great — the taste, the smell, the feeling. Wanting Phil to enjoy more of it, to feel the effects like he is, Dan shifts the joint back to Phil’s mouth. While Phil takes a drag, Dan seeks out something else for his mouth to do, and lets his lips fall to Phil’s neck. He presses warm, smokey kisses to each knot of Phil’s exposed spine, tugging the collar of his tshirt between his teeth when he reaches the barricade.

Phil lets out a satisfied moan, and Dan’s not sure if it’s from the weed or the kisses, but it doesn’t matter. There’s plenty more of both. 

They fall into a rhythm. Dan takes a glorious drag, savoring his puff, before moving the joint to Phil’s lip as he exhales. Dan holds the joint steady so Phil can take a hit, while focusing his own efforts on kissing every part of Phil’s neck that he can reach. Inhale, exhale, kiss. _Again_ and _again_ and _again_.

When the joint is barely a stub, Phil drops his head backwards onto Dan’s shoulder. “The last hit’s for you, Bear,” he mumbles, his words coming out in a lazy slur.

Dan breathes in the last hit of weed, relishing in its effects. There’s more, in the bag, if they want it. And maybe in a bit, they will. But for now, the edges of Dan have melted away, he’s numbed over slightly, and his nerve endings feel on _fire_. It’s wonderful.

He can feel every _millimeter_ of where Phil is touching him — the light press of Phil’s arse against Dan’s semi-erect cock, the soft cotton of Phil’s tshirt rubbing against Dan’s unclothed chest, the silky hairs of Phil’s quiff tickling the underside of Dan’s chin.

It’s too much, in the best of ways. Dan can’t resist shifting his hand from the railing to Phil’s hip, pulling their bodies closer together, letting his lips trail from Phil’s neck around to the soft pad below his ear.

A quiet, unrestrained groan tumbles from Phil’s lips and Dan knows that he’s feeling it too, that the weed has blurred Phil’s worries like it has his own. The fabric between them is too much, Dan is desperate to feel Phil’s skin on his own. Without thinking, Dan drops the dead joint to the small table and slips his hands under Phil’s shirt, pulling up, up, _up_ , until the shirt is bunched around Phil’s neck. Phil’s arms raise over his head, silently asking Dan to take it off entirely.

And he does, letting the shirt drop without a care. A moment too late, Dan sees that it’s falling, falling from the balcony railing down, down, down, billowing towards the street below them.

It’s just a tour shirt, nothing important if they lose it permanently. And even if it was important, Dan wasn’t sure he could bring himself to care about it right now. He’s too entranced by Phil, by this moment.

The morning sunlight looks beautiful against Phil’s pale skin and Dan has the urge to drink it all in, to kiss every part of Phil that he can find. So he does.

Dan starts below Phil’s ear, kissing down his neck, trailing down, down, _down_. Dan kisses every bump of Phil’s spine, his hands splaying across Phil’s back, caressing every bit of his boyfriend that he can reach. Vaguely, Dan is aware of Phil moaning quietly, of Phil’s hands grasping the railing for support, but that’s not where Dan’s focus is. He’s too mesmerized by his boyfriend’s beautiful back to be distracted by anything else.

Dan keeps going until he’s bent at the hips, pressing his lips into the small dimple of Phil’s lower back.

Without standing up, Dan gently spins Phil around, pushing his back into the railing. Dan swoops back into Phil’s space, grazing his teeth where the trail of hairs on Phil’s stomach intersects with his tight, light blue pants. 

Now that Dan has Phil turned around, he can see Phil’s cock straining against his pants, a wet patch slowly growing near the tip of his cock. Fleetingly, Dan wonders if Phil has been hard long. He’s reminded of his own cock, and he looks down to find that he, too, is stretching the fabric of his pants. 

He loves this, loves that after nearly ten years together, they still have this effect on each other. He loves that merely standing close, intimately sharing a joint, and some gentle kissing can make them both just as hard as the day they met.

Normally, Dan would rush. He would stand up fast, crash their cocks together, grind _hard_ into Phil. Normally, Dan never would have dared to take Phil’s shirt of _outside_ , and not cared when it tumbled down to the street. Normally, they never would have embraced on the balcony, much less in their pants. 

But normally, weed isn’t dulling their fears and heightening their senses.

So today, Dan languidly kisses his way back up Phil. After years of kissing Phil, Dan knows every single one of his hot spots, so he takes care to dip his tongue into Phil’s belly button, and circle it around each of his nipples. Above him, Phil is letting out soft, contented sighs, and it’s _beautiful_. 

Phil’s _always_ beautiful, but today, on their anonymous hotel balcony in a foreign city, high on the best marijuana Dan’s ever had, Dan is pretty sure that Phil’s beauty has transcended life itself. It shouldn’t be possible for _anything_ to be as beautiful as Phil is right now, but alas.

The only way Dan knows how to show his love, his appreciation, is through kissing, so he keeps going. He kisses Phil’s shoulders, his forehead, his heart, his cheeks.

When Dan’s lips finally land on Phil’s, Phil kisses back languidly, pulling Dan against him. Dan finally, _finally_ ruts into Phil, feeling a slow wave of pleasure wash from his cock to his mind and back down. 

“We don’t do this enough,” Phil whispers against Dan’s lips, his hands tracing light trails up and down Dan’s ribcage. 

Dan draws back, only slightly, thumbing across Phil’s cheek. “What? Smoke, or fuck around outside?” Dan mumbles back.

“Both,” Phil mutters as he rocks his cock against Dan’s, his hands gliding down Dan’s torso, resting on his waist. 

“When we buy a…” Dan trails off, his promise turning into a moan when Phil’s hands slip into the back of his pants, gripping the cheeks of Dan’s arse lightly. It’s a sentence that doesn’t need to be finished anyway. They both know what’s coming. A forever home. More privacy. The space to do what they want, when they want to. A permanent future. 

A future together.

Phil dips his head down, his lips _finally_ grazing Dan’s neck. The weed has clouded Dan’s rational senses enough that he lets out a long, loud whine — a noise that is probably far too loud for their current location, but Dan doesn’t care. Phil’s lips feel like _fire_ coursing down his neck, sparks radiate out from every spot that he touches. Dan feels _alive_ in a way that he hasn’t in a long time and he wants _more_. 

He wants to feel Phil’s lips _everywhere_.

And Phil _knows_. 

Phil always knows. He’s always so in tune with Dan’s needs, especially during sex. Today is no exception. Phil kisses down Dan’s neck, licking into the hollows of his collarbones. On instinct, Dan’s head falls back, eyes closed against the warm heat of the morning sun, basking in its glow.

“Fuck, Phil,” Dan moans. His neck, his collarbones, have always been a sensitive spot, but with so much _high quality weed_ teasing at his senses, everything is amplified by a million. Phil continues lapping at his collarbone and Dan is fairly certain that he’s had _blowjobs_ that have been less intoxicating than this. 

It had been _years_ since he’d had sex while high, and _fuck_ , why had he waited this long to do it again?

Phil’s lips pave their way back up Dan’s neck, tugging the lobe of his ear into the wet heat of Phil’s mouth. “Do you like that, baby?” he murmurs. “Do my lips feel good on you?”

The combination of weed and arousal render Dan speechless, and he’s only capable of mumbling back _yes yes yes_. 

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” Phil continues, pulling on Dan, forcing them to shift positions. The warm stone of the railing presses against Dan’s bare back. “I’m going to make you come with just my mouth.”

“Fuck,” Dan breathes, eyes flying shut. He feels Phil tugging on the hem of his pants, pulling them down to his legs, his lips following the path of his hand down the inside of Dan’s leg. The briefs hit the floor, and Dan opens his eyes to step out of them. He’s greeted with the sight of Phil kneeling between his legs on the stone floor of their hotel balcony. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dan is grateful for the fact that rest of the crew are on lower levels, but even if they weren’t, Dan’s mind is too fuzzy to care about stopping now.

Phil kisses the inside of Dan’s ankle and even _that_ sends tingles of arousal through Dan’s whole body. Slowly, Phil kisses his way up, switching legs every few pecks. They don’t normally have the patience for this — Dan _especially_ struggles to maintain such a slow, tantalizing pace if he’s not physically _restrained_. 

But today, with the marijuana helping to slow them both down, this pace feels _right_. It takes Phil nearly two whole minutes to finally press a final kiss into the sharp bone of Dan’s hip. Dan’s eyes are wide open, staring hungrily down at Phil, eager to not miss the moment when he finally touches his lips to Dan’s cock. 

He doesn’t though. Phil leans back, slightly, his eyes flickering up to meet Dan’s. On a different day, Dan would whine, probably even knot his hand in Phil’s hair and push him forward. But the only thing Dan wants to do right now is keep staring down, down, _down_ at Phil, to do _whatever_ Phil wants.

Phil’s hands slide up Dan’s legs, coming to rest on his hips. “Turn around for me, love,”

_Fuck, so that’s how he’s going to do this_.

A loud, unrestrained groan tumbles out of Dan’s mouth as he follows Phil’s gentle order. He feels warm lips kissing against his cheek and Dan tumbles forward, bracing his hands on the railing, jutting his arse backwards. 

The vibrations from Phil’s resulting moan feel stronger than any vibrator Dan’s ever had inside of him, and, for a split second, he’s actually concerned he’s going to come from that alone.

He doesn’t though. Thank god. He doesn’t want this to end now. 

This is too good to end so soon.

Warm, firm hands pull Dan’s cheeks apart. A wet, hot stripe is licked from his balls all the way up to his spine. Dan’s _shaking_ it feels so good. Phil dives right back in, focusing directly on his hole, licking slowly, noisily. 

Dan’s quivering, barely able to hold himself up. He lowers himself to his elbows on the railing, granting himself a little bit more stability. Phil’s tongue is slow, but relentless, alternating between lapping at Dan’s hole and dipping inside. The parts of Dan that are wet from Phil’s mouth are particularly sensitive, the cool air tingling against his damp skin.

In the warm early summer air of a random hotel in a random city, Dan feels himself melting. He could come from this — he _will_ come from this, but he wants something just a little bit _more_. Dan wants Phil to melt with him, wants to feel Phil coming undone as Dan comes.

“Fuck, Phil, fuck,” Dan mutters after _ages_ of Phil eating him out. “Stop, I —”

“No,” Phil circles his tongue around Dan’s hole insistently. “I want you to come from this.”

“Me too, but —” Dan’s cut off by his own gasp when Phil’s tongue darts far inside of him, nudging against his prostate. “Hang on though,” Dan manages to say, his head clouded with drugs and lust. Phil stops licking, but he doesn’t pull back. Warm air is blowing across Dan’s wet hole and he _almost_ gives in. “I want to taste you, too.”

“Fuck,” Phil mumbles into his ass, his teeth catching on Dan’s rim. It’s electrifying. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Phil steadies his hands on Dan’s hips, pulling himself up. “Go lay on the bed, baby. On your side, the way we used to.”

Dan nods numbly, still in a daze. He links his hand with Phil’s, leading his boyfriend into their room. Neither of them bother to pull the door or the curtains closed behind them, the breeze feels nice, the glow of the sun better than any lamplight could ever be.

Obediently, Dan follows Phil’s instructions, crawling on the bed, laying his head at the bottom and swinging his feet up onto their pillow. He lays on his right side, which gives each of them free use of their dominant hand.

Phil threads his hand into Dan’s hair as he passes, pausing to massage Dan’s temples. “Good boy,” Phil praises. Dan lets himself get lost in the work of Phil’s fingers for a moment, the sensation magnified after smoking.

Eventually, Phil moves on, crawling onto the bed, swinging his legs up, letting them come to rest at Dan’s side. They’re both on their sides, facing each other. Phil smiles down at Dan for a second, shifting slightly on the bed to move his cock closer to Dan’s mouth, before turning his attention back to Dan’s lower half. Phil tenderly grabs Dan’s thigh, maneuvering it above his head and over his shoulder. Without warning, Phil’s lips are back on Dan’s hole, sucking and licking with renewed vigor. Dan reaches out with his own mouth, taking Phil’s neglected cock into his mouth.

Phil’s cock jumps at the contact, a bead of precum leaking onto Dan’s tongue. Dan moans at the taste, swallowing as much of Phil down as he can in his current position. He can’t take Phil nearly as deeply or as skillfully when he’s on his side like this, especially not with the way that Phil is sucking at his hole, but Dan hopes that what he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

This isn’t a position they indulge in very often, although they used to, when they were younger. These days, they both usually prefer to have more freedom to _perform_ as skillfully as they want, their ministrations untainted by the other's. 

But today, this feels right. Dan was _desperate_ to have Phil’s cock in his mouth, but he wasn’t ready to give up the feeling of Phil’s tongue in his arse yet either. 

They should do this more. Every part of this. Smoking, fucking outside, sixty-nining. They should do it all more.

But, to be fair, Dan wants to do _everything_ with Phil more.

Both of them seem to be in silent agreement to take things slowly, to not rush. Neither of them increase the speed of their ministrations, and neither of them push their hips to encourage the other to move faster. It’s slow. Maybe slower than they’ve ever fucked.

Dan loses track of time. He has no idea how long he’s felt _right on the edge_ , but not quite tipping over. Considering he has been so close, for so long, Dan shouldn’t be surprised when he comes, but he is. His orgasm wracks through his body, powerful waves that threaten to crash him into another _dimension_. He sucks harder at Phil’s cock, needing somewhere to channel his energy. 

Phil’s hips snap forward once, twice, and he’s coming down Dan’s throat. Dan moans at the taste, working Phil through his orgasm.

When they both still, Dan pulls his leg from Phil’s shoulder, rolling onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling, which he’s just now noticing is patterned with concentric circles.

“What now?” Dan murmurs.

Phil’s hand reaches out, thumbing through the come that Dan hadn’t realized is streaked across his own stomach. “First, we are ordering room service, because I’m _starving_. And after we eat, we are smoking the rest of that weed, and then I’m fucking you.”

Dan tilts his head to the side, pressing a small kiss into the crevice of Phil’s hip. “God, I love you.” Dan mumbles. “We are doing Amsterdam _so_ right.”

**Author's Note:**

> like and reblog on tumblr 


End file.
